Second Chances
by Fanatical-Chick
Summary: Sin was defeated, the Eternal Calm was upon Spira, and Sir Auron - Lady Yuna's Guardian - had been given the Sending he'd been waiting over 10 years for. But something pulls him from the Farplane, leaving him alone in a strange world. FFX/XII crossover.
1. Chapter 1

In the Farplane, time had pass indeterminately. He had no recollection of days, of months or years. There was hardly even a recollection of self. Simply a sense of pease that had permeated everything, flashes of imagery that passed through the ethereal mind, some his, some belonging to other's. It had been a marvelous release, like being free in the most basic sense of the word. It was something that had been a long-time in coming for him, had been well overdue when he'd finally been sent to his final rest, but it had been marvelous nontheless.

Now, though, all he felt was weakness, hunger and - whether he admitted to it or not - a small level of fear. Where once there had been peace and silence and an unending sense of timelessness, now there was worry and stress, and minutes, days and weeks that seemed to drag on forever and ever as he made his way through the forest, lost, alone, confused. The dense jungle he'd found himself in hadn't made things any easier. He'd hoped that if he'd walked long enough, he might find himself someplace familiar, find himself near a temple, where he could seek help, call upon a Summoner - by Yevon, he hoped people still became Summoners without the need to destroy Sin - and beg for a resending, find someone who could set things right.

All he'd found amongst the huge trees, though, were fiends and beasts he didn't recognize, and a strangely befuddling sense that he was beginning to go in circles. He had a horrible suspicion it had something to do with the strange sand he'd begun to see hanging in the air, clouding his vision, but by the time he'd realized what was happening and turned back, his thoughts had already clouded over, an uncomfortable, sickening daze overtaking his senses unlike anything he'd felt in a long time. It seemed as if the entire forest around him was alive, moving and taunting him at every turn. And as he'd stumbled through the trees, searching for any escape from the worsening confusion, the beasts of the forest had seemed to recognize his moment of weakness, and he'd been attacked by a small pack of...he didn't know what.

It wasn't often that Auron's stoney facade cracked, but the confusion, the days and days of unending torment, caused his guard to slip, and when they attacked, he found himself seized upon without warning. He threw them off, stumbling to his feet as he backpedled, instantly drawing his sword and levelling it at them threateningly. They snarled, their fangs dripping as they salivated at the prospect of a fresh meal, and he had a moment's chance to laugh bitterly at the irony of finding himself, a man who was nothing more then a memory made into the semblance of flesh and blood, being seen as a delicious meal for the living creatures of Spira.

He had but an instant to see the tense of their muscles before the creatures leapt, and he swung the blade, fending off the attack as it came from multiple directions. He'd never been fast, however, had always been the strength behind an attack while he'd left the speed to those who were younger, and as he fended off the first wave, the second sprung into action, tearing into his back and pulling him down. He roared in fury, rolling to throw them off as he sprung to his feet, spinning to wave them off as they dared to approach again.

They snarled at his defiance, advancing on him and leaving their fallen comrades behind in favor of the wounded human as he stumbled away, his legs shaking with each step.

"Stand back, you COWARDS!" He snarled in rage, but the words of the man who would have - under normal circumstances - intimidated some of the fiercest foes years before fell on seemingly deaf ears. He didn't fear death - on the contrary, the Farplane was what he searched for - but he knew that without a Summoner's sending, he would be forced to live with his wounds, either until he could find an Inn to recupperate or find something to patch up the damage the creatures did to him. He hadn't come from the Farplane with any health potions. The dead had no need of them.

The snarl he heard next came from behind him, and he spun just in time to see the beast leaping towards him, just in time to raise his sword in defense, stumbling and landing roughly on the wounds of his back. He slammed his fist against the creature's muzzle, grinning in a small victory as he heard it yelping in pain, the sound of teeth and bones snapping under the assault satisfying to his ears. He leaned against his sword, dragging himself weakly to his feet with a grunt of frustration as it staggered away, it's tail tucked between it's legs. But while the smirk on his face hinted that perhaps he felt he had the upperhand after the blow he'd delivered, the weight in his heart felt almost painful, the knowledge that he had no chance of lasting much longer against the creatures dragging him down almost as heavily as his wounds.

It didn't take but an instant for him to make a decision, to pull himself upright as much as he could as he glared around him at the creatures who waited to feast. He knew that he didn't have the strength left to finish them all off, even if he called upon the magics he'd trained so hard to learn as a Warrior Monk. But the choice of surrendering to the horde or taking as many of them with him as he could was an easy one to make, and with a snarl, he pulled his blade up, focusing his energy through the metal of the Katana and - with a strangled, desperate cry of finality, slammed the point into the ground at his feet, sending a shockwave of fire-laced mana through the ground to explode the ground out from under their feet.

The sound of pebbles and flesh raining down from above lasted for but a moment, though it seemed to last for an eternity, and as he slumped to the ground with a weak groan, as the dust cleared around him, he stared into the eyes of the last few beasts, determined to show no weakness even when faced with - perhaps not death, but...something much worse. "...I hope you CHOKE...!"

The taunt left his lips even as he felt the last remnants of his strength leave him, and he collapsed onto the grass with a gasping sigh. He watched helplessly as those clawed feet padded closer to him, the sound of growling fading to curious sniffing as they percieved the defeat of their prey, and he closed his eye, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as he prepared to feel them dig into his flesh with their teeth and claws, his hand gripping the handle of his sword as tightly as his weakened body could muster. This was not what he'd had in mind when he'd imagined the afterlife. Not at all.

And then, in the same instant he felt the breath of the creature's dancing across his skin, he heard a sickening, thwick of a sound, and a beast cried out, landing heavily enough beside him that he felt it shake the ground. The sound came again, and again, and he dared for one instant to bring his gaze back up, the sight that greeted him so wonderful he almost found the strength to laugh in joy.

From somewhere, a series of sharp arrows had rung out, striking the beasts where they stood and taking them out before they could get their claws on him, and they lay dead where they had fallen. He tried desperately to move, to turn his head to seek out the source of his salvation, and was rewarded by the sight of a tall, lithe creature stepping out from behind a tree not far away. Through the quickly-encroaching darkness, he could barely make out what seemed at first glance to be white hair crowning a dark, tanned figure, two crests of hair sticking up from the sides of it's head as it approached. Strangely human and yet different then anything he'd ever seen, it held what fascination he could muster in his waning strength before it was knealing beside him, reaching a long, tapered set of fingers out to touch him gently, as if afraid to touch him lest he break.

When at long last he heard a voice, the feminine, accented lilt to the words was strangely soothing, calming and comforting as it attempted to ease his concerns when the rest of the world was going black. "It's alright, Hume, you're safe. It's ok..." Anything else it might have said was lost to him as he faded from consciousness, slipping into the closest semblance to a comforting death as he could come.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that hit his ears as he slowly rose to consciousness was what sounded like boiling water from not far away. And then it was the sound of birds chirping, and of leaves rustling, and he began to feel the warmth of the sun no his skin and smell the faint odor of...something...well, something that smelled absolutely delicious to someone who hadn't eaten in days.

Next came the realization that he was laying on something warm and soft, that what had at first seemed like rough, jagged stones or sticks underneath him was simply the sensation of a mattress pressing against the fresh wounds on his back. He gave a soft, uncomfortable grunt as he shifted gently on the bed, his breath drawing in a gentle, uneasy gasp as each movement seemed to burn for an instant before settling back down to a more managable level. Everything came slowly, as if still in a haze, and after another moment, as he did his best to rest for a moment before moving again, to catch his breath, he heard a soft, lilting sound coming from not far away, a gentle humming that came from a breathy, woman's voice.

He allowed himself a moment to listen to the soft vocals before he turned his head, his one brown eye creeping open to glance around dazedly at his surroundings, finding himself in what looked like a small grass hut. It was...while not hyper-advanced the way Zanarkand had been, nowhere near the level of primitive he'd grown up with in Spira, and seemed a strange, yet altogether interesting hybrid of the two. He spied a pot boiling over a fire in what must have been a kitchen area, and near the far window, with her back facing him, was the same tall, dark-skinned woman who'd found him in the forest. There was no denying that the feminine voice belonged to her: there was no one else in the room, and there could be no denying that figure for a man's. She was dressed in garb that - in his youth - would have made the Monk turn bright red in a varying mixture of shock and horror, embarassment and disgust. Now, though, he barely seemed to notice just how little she seemed to be wearing, and instead shifted on the bed again, trying to push himself up into a sitting position as he opened his mouth to speak.

The sound he gave her was a softly croaked, raspy sound, and he silently cursed himself for his own weakness, trying to gather the breath to try once more. It seemed, though, that just that small sound was enough to draw her attention, and she turned, surprise on her features as she saw him fully awake and trying to move. She padded over, the sound of heels clicking on wood drumming a staccato beat on the floor as she approached him. She reached out her hands to him, shushing him in a somewhat familiar sound as she tried to push him back down, a hand resting gently on his chest, and he looked down to see bandages wrapped completely around his torso, his robe and vest laid at the foot of the bed.

You shouldn't be standing, you're still not well. Just lie back down, everything's going to be alright." Her voice had a strange accent to his ears, and when he looked back up to her in slight curiosity, what he found was a little surprising. What had first appeared to be crests of hair atop her head now seemed to be long, softly-furred ears sticking straight up, pointed forward as if she were listening to him, all of her attention on the man she'd saved from the forest. He hesitated in confusion for a moment, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the things he saw, but found that all he could think of was the daze he'd found himself in when passing through the Jungle, and that it must not have faded quiet yet.

"I...need a Summoner. Please." He whispered gently, forcing the words from vocal chords that had trouble forming proper sounds. She tilted her head at him curiously, as if she didn't understand him, those long, white ears twisting one way and then the other before tilting back in his direction. For a moment, he found it strangely fascinating to watch.

"I don't understand. What do you mean, a "Summoner"?" Even with the hand she used to try and hold him down, he made an effort to sit up, bringing a hand to his forehead as he tried to think, a soft moan escaping his lips without his consent.

"I...I need a Sending. Please...I don't belong here. I'm meant for the Farplane..." he whispered it almost more softly then before, realizing the weight of the words as they would sound to someone who didn't know him, afraid of causing fear in his rescuer. She simply furrowed her own brow, however, tilting her head the other way, and reached a hand up to gently press against his forehead, as if checking for a fever.

"Whether you belong here or not is not the question. The..."Farplane" can wait. You're not well enough to travel just yet." He blinked at her in slight confusion, shaking his head gently as he realized there seemed to be a strange breakdown of communication.

"No, I...do you not understand what I mean...? I...don't need to travel anywhere...the Farplane - ...I..." He found himself almost at a loss for words, afraid to continue for frightening the young woman, not wanting to cause her to fear an attack from an Unsent who was close to succumbing to the pain of it's own death and giving in to the most basic instincts of a fiend. She simply clucked her tongue, though, shaking her head and brushing his hair back, an almost amusingly comforting gesture, and turned to walk towards a small bowl filled with water, taking a cloth from the table and wetting it before bringing it back to place against his forehead.

"Don't worry about all of that right now. You're still delirious from the Vision Dust. Just rest for a while, I'll have something for you to eat soon, that should help." Despite himself, he felt his body sinking back into the mattress as she turned to walk back to the boiling pot, the blankets on the bed shifting on top of him as he unconsciously reached back to pull them up, watching her as she stirred whatever it was that smelled so good. He...he had to admit...he was so hungry. Unsent or not, in a human form, he still needed food, and it had been so long since he'd had anything at all. He'd gone days since finding himself in the living world without a bite to eat, unable to succumb to starvation, and desperately wanting something to asuage the hunger. Maybe...maybe it wouldn't hurt. Just once. He could have just a little before he asked for the Summoner again. Food sounded so good.

It wasn't long before the thought of a decent meal and the sound of her soft humming, the soft chirping of the birds outside the window, lulled him back into an easy, half-sleep, curled up on the bed she'd laid him out on to heal. He just needed a little rest, that was all. And then everything would be more clear. He just knew it.


	3. Chapter 3

Rue left the man to sleep where he was as she turned back to the kettle, the smell of the soup boiling within enticing to her senses as she struck up another note, humming a song from her childhood unconsciously. A part of her was worried for him, knowing that his wounds had been severe and that the Vision Dust was known to be harmful to Hume. The fact that his deliriousness had lingered even now, a full two days after she'd carried him from the forest, was more then enough of a reason for her to be a little concern. The fact that he had woken up at all, though, had eased her tension the moment she'd seen him sitting up in bed.

The worries of his health, however, were nothing compared to the worries she had of the other Viera, and even as she stirred the food, she found herself glancing out the window, searching the pathways for the curious, suspicious faces she knew would be lurking nearby. She'd had more visitors then she would have liked in the past two days, Viera coming from all over Eruyt to see if the word they'd heard was true. Had one of their own honestly brought a Hume male into the village??? It was unheard of, to say the least. Even she didn't understand it, found herself questioning her reasons behind such a brash act. She knew what her heart told her, of course. There had simply seemed something so unjust in allowing the man to be killed when she'd stumbled across the scene, no matter what the laws of The Wood were. It was true, Hume knew not to be there, and that it was supposed to be common knowledge amongst them that entering The Wood was an easy way to meet your death, but that didn't change the fact that she'd been unable to allow it to happen without doing at least something.

So, after having struggled to lift the man who - being almost as tall as she was and much stockier - was a bit heavier then she was normally used to carrying, trying to juggle his surprisingly weighty sword, and ensure that her bow was secured amongst the arrows in her quiver, she'd managed to carry him through the Vision Dust, to the awaiting gates of the village, where she'd been stopped by the Wood-Warders.

They were familiar with her, of course: she was one of their own. But they had never expected to find her doing something so unusual. Needless to say, it had caused a bit of a ruckus amongst the other Viera. She was just thankful they'd allowed her to go through with it, though she'd been forced to take him to one of the lower huts, instead of bringing him to

Mel: her quarters in the Wood-Warder huts. It wasn't hard to understand the meaning behind the order: The other Viera wanted him as far away from them as possible.

So she'd done her best to care for him on her own in the two days since she'd found him, washing his wounds and bandaging them so that they could heal properly. For the first night, she'd been worried that perhaps he wouldn't make it: the wounds were deep, and she wasn't thoroughly sure what sorts of wounds Hume were supposed to be able to withstand. When she'd woken up the next morning, though, and found him still breathing, she'd allowed herself a bit more hope. She prayed his consciousness was a sign that he was on his way to a full recovery. Whatever it meant, she'd just have to deal with it as the situation changed.

A small bird flew into her line of vision as she stared out the window, bringing her out of her momentary concerns, and she shook her head, glancing back down at the soup in the kettle before reaching for her cloth-mitt, using it to swing the kettle-stand away from the fire. She wasn't sure what Hume ate - this was, after all, the first one she'd ever met - so she hoped that the recipe would be alright. None of the other Viera, even the ones who'd come snooping around, knocking on her door from time to time, had known what would be the proper food for a Hume. Either that, or they hadn't wanted to help.

She ladled a bit of the food into a bowl before walking back over to the bed, setting it beside the bowl of water she'd had earlier. The man had already dozed off, laying in what looked like it might have been an uncomfortable slouch, half-sitting and half-laying where he'd tried to get up earlier, and she approached softly, not wanting to startle him. She found she was unsure of herself, though, when she went to wake him, strangely nervous and fascinated at the same time. Did all Hume have hair such a strange mixture of colors? Did they all have it growing not only on their heads, but also on the lower parts of their faces, too? Why did their ears sit so low on their heads? Why were they so small? Everything seemed so unusual, and at the same time so similar to Viera as well. Even so, Hume or Viera, this particular creature had obviously seen far more struggles then even the fight she'd witnessed in The Wood, the scars on his face and body - not to mention the very large sword he had wielded even in a weakened state - were all she needed to see to know that. She wondered to herself what kind of thing could have caused such a large scar as the one that marred his eye, and despite herself, she reached a hand out gently, her fingers ghosting close to it as if she wanted to run them down it, to feel the upraised skin caused where the large wound had healed back seemingly a long time ago.

Unfortunately, the moment her fingers touched his cheek, he seemed to startle, jerking in his sleep and pulling away as the one good eye snapped open to look at her. She recoiled, stepping back and holding her hands out as if to show him she meant no harm, and after a moment he seemed to settle, a hand reaching up to rub at the spot she'd touched as if it

Mel: tingled from the contact. When she opened her mouth to speak an apology, she found them both stumbling over each other instead, both seemingly wanting to apologize for the uncomfortable moment.

"You've no need to apologize, I overstepped my bounds. Here, the soup is ready..." She whispered softly, holding the bowl out in front of her in one hand, a spoon in the other, as if in peace offering. He glanced at it a moment, curiosity in that one-eyed gaze, and as realization came into the expression, she saw what was undeniable hunger pass through him, something that reminded her almost intimidatingly of a feral animal being offered it's first meal in a very, very long time. He pulled himself up to sit, wincing only slightly despite the still-healing wounds on his back, and took the bowl

Mel: from her with a motion that tried to appear grateful and polite but was obviously eager. He'd barely had a chance to mutter a gentle "Thank you" before he was eating the dish, and she took it as a sign that the Vieran recipe was to his liking, a tiny smile crossing her features.

"I guess that means it's good. I'm glad." She whispered softly before turning back to the cooking fire, lifting the pot off of the stand and putting it on the table before placing a filled tea-kettle in it's place, placing that over the fire to boil as well. "I have tea to drink, but if you prefer water, or milk, it's your choice." She turned to glance at him over her shoulder curiously, waiting for a response, and he glanced back up at her, hurrying to finish a mouthful of food before answering.

"Tea is fine, thank you..." She smiled at his soft reply, nodding and setting out a couple of cups before walking back over, though she found herself fidgeting, unsure of exactly what to say or do now that he was awake. Viera weren't overly social in nature, so she found herself a little unsure of herself when it came to interacting with the strange man.

He glanced at her for only an instant, that one eye turning her way, but it was obvious that it was - if not verbal or extremely expressive - his way of acknowledging she was there. Even so, she got the impression that even that simple glance was an attempt by the male to keep himself on track with her movements around the room, an attempt at keeping himself fully aware of everything she did. Even dazed by the Vision Dust and delirious, he seemed eager to stay one step ahead of everything around him mentally, as if he were unable to allow himself a moment to relax even in the house of the person who'd brought him in from The Wood. Little surprise, she thought, if his life had been as hard as the scars he had hinted it had been.

"How are you feeling...? Is the soup helping to clear your head...?" He allowed himself a chance to pause between eating, a thoughtful expression on his face, and then nodded, glancing up at her slightly in reply.

"I suppose. I feel...somewhat better, yes." the hoarse reply drifted up at her softly, and she nodded back before another almost uncomfortable silence filled the room. She waited, trying to find another thing to say, and finally sprung back gently on her feet, turning and walking across the room as if remembering something she needed to attend to. All the while, she found herself a flurry of somewhat nervous chatter. Where did he come from? Was he headed somewhere when he was lost in The Wood? Had he traveled far, or was he lost? The entire time, she busied her hands with cleaning up the kitchen, throwing unused vegetables and fruits into the holding bin they belonged in, folding portions of tea leaves into small pieces of cotton and pinning them closed before hanging them over the edges of the two awaiting teacups. The entire time, a strange silence floated at her from the other side of the room as the man listened, watching her flutter around the room with a strange look on his face as he finished the soup in his bowl.

After a while, she seemed to realize how fast she'd been talking, and she stopped, giggling softly at herself as she waved her hands in the air, dismissing all of her nervous chatter away as unimportant. It was silent for a moment longer, and then just as she began to fear she might have angered the Hume with her talking, she heard the sound of his voice rippling to her through the room, a strange sound that at first sounded like a cough, but she then realized was laughter. She paused, turning to look at him, her ears cocked forward in curiosity, and despite herself, she smiled as she caught sight of a strangely warm expression on his face, his lips pulled up into the faintest of smiles that reached even that scarred, unusable eye.

"I take it you don't have company much." He quipped gently, the slight grin on his face enough to tell her that it was meant as a joke, and she giggled again, shaking her head and brushing her hair back from her face. The tension seemed to have melted with those words, and as she turned to the whistling tea kettle, she shrugged gently, more at ease now then she had been a moment before.

"We Viera are solitary creatures. We don't generally see others until midday meditation." She poured the tea and turned back to him, handing him his cup as he handed her the empty bowl, taking note of his curious gaze.

"Viera?"

She nodded to him in reply, pulling a chair from the table to sit beside the bed. "That's correct. You're in Eruyt village. I brought you here after I found you." There was still a touch of confusion on his face, though he nodded lightly, his eye glancing around the room curiously for a moment as he took in his surroundings. "Have you never seen a Viera before?"

He shook his head, turning to look at her again, and she could see his eyes taking in the sight of her ears perched high on top of her head, arched forward attentively as she listened to him speak.

"Where I come from, we've...never heard of them, actually." She blinked at him for a moment, surprise in her features, and then gave another shy giggle, tilting her head to the side.

"Where are you from?"

"Bevelle." The word held no meaning for her as she rolled it around in her head, and after a moment, she shrugged back at him, her mouth pulled into a crooked smile, as if apologizing wordlessly.

"I can't say that I've ever heard of it, myself. I'm sorry. Maybe when you're well enough to travel, one of the Moogle Merchants will be able to help you find your way home. They'll know more about the world outside of The Wood then I do." His expression changed in that moment, and he glanced away for a moment, his attention turning to something out the window for a moment, and she felt the air change, his mood instantly dropping from the almost-companionable nature he'd been showing to something she couldn't quite read. She wondered if she'd said something to upset him. She was about to apologize when he spoke again, and it wasn't hard to notice that his voice had taken on an almost uneasy tone.

"I'm not headed for Bevelle. I need to find a Summoner." She looked at him curiously for a moment, remembering the words he'd said when he'd first woken before, and when

Mel: he turned to glance at her again, trying to judge a reaction, she shook her head.

"I don't understand. What's a Summoner?"

"A Summoner is someone who can...Summoners are Priests and Priestesses for The Order of Yevon. Are there no Temples to Yevon in Eruyt? They're the only ones who can help me return to where I belong now." It was hard to miss the almost sad mood that had overtaken him, though it hardly showed on his face, and she felt a moment of worry for him as he looked away again, seemingly unwilling to meet her eyes, but why she couldn't tell.

"No, there are no temples here. There are no Hume temples in all of The Wood, I'm sorry. The Moogles might be able to help you, though. They come and go quite frequently. Maybe one would allow you to accompany him to the closest Temple. Is something wrong?"

He simply shook his head, staring thoughtfully away through the window, and it seemed to her as if the lines on his face had deepened, making him seem older then he had before.

"It's nothing to concern yourself with. It would only worry you unnecessarily." The finality in his tone told her that he didn't wish to broach the subject further, and she found herself feeling shy again, uncomfortable enough that she stood gently, taking his empty teacup and bowl back to the sink.

The uncomfortable quiet seemed to fill the room once more, and seemed to linger for a good few minutes as she washed up, setting the dishes to dry beside the fire. When she looked up again, however, she found her ears perking up at the sound of footsteps, and she turned to the window, finding the unmistakable form of the Jote approaching purposefully. She sighed to herself, turning to look back at the man before she walked towards the door.

"I'll only be a moment. Stay in bed and rest. You need to regain your strength." And then she was walking opening the door, stepping out into the sunlight and closing it behind her to greet her leader, more then well aware that her pressence could only mean one thing. The Wood must have realized the Hume was awake, and would likely want him expelled from the village.


End file.
